Black and White
by Siderius
Summary: Hermione is chosen to end the war. She knows what must be done. She knows the cost. It's black and white.


**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

 **Black and White**

My world is black and white. No one can give me a definite explanation for this odd occurrence. Nine months prior, I had perceived colour as naturally as breathing. A popular theory is that my magic is acting defensively; stripping away the palette in order to shield me from the horrors I've witnessed. It took several weeks to adjust to the dull, monochromatic scheme. Now it seems appropriate. It is even a comfort in some ways. In sleep, I can recall the brilliant hues that my eyes no longer see. Emerald. Cold, hard and unyielding. Scarlet. Rich, tepid pools that stain the snow covered earth. Beige. Coarse and filthy, the canvassed floor pressing roughly against my throbbing cheek.

I toss and turn in my cot, teetering on the edge between dreams and reality. The bright, violent imagery releases its hold reluctantly and I sit up, gasping for breath. I am surrounded by darkness, but the lack of light doesn't bother me. Putting my head between my knees, I wait for the dizziness to pass. I am both irritated and relieved that sleep will not find me again tonight. As I retrieve the worn shawl I keep beside my makeshift bed, a shaft of greyish moonlight penetrates my dark refuge. I see the black, pitted eyes of my former potions instructor look upon me with concern. Swallowing back a deep sigh, I wrap the shawl around my shoulders. I am sick to death of people's concern.

I know that I am too thin. Food is almost as scarce as sleep and even when we do manage a proper meal, my stomach cannot hold much. The dark circles marring my pale skin are like a werewolf in a frilly tutu; impossible to miss. Fatigue, the lack of proper nutrition and my near-constant state of depression have all taken their toll in some way, but have yet to gain a foothold on my strength. It seems that my magic, if you overlook its penchant for stealing rainbows, does a fairly decent job of keeping me alive. I have yet to decide if this is a good thing. Drawn from my inner musings by a rude cough, I jump, startled. I'd forgotten about the man that was invading my personal space.

"What is it Severus?" I ask.

"Hermione…"

My name passes between his lips with every semblance of hesitation. It annoys me. Severus knows not to bother me unless it's of the utmost importance. I snap at the dour man; impatient to get on with my lonely, monochrome existence.

"Spit it out Sev!"

He glares at me. I glare back. For a long, uncomfortable minute, we wage a silent war of wills. Each of us is determined not to be the first to break. Though Severus is a master Occlumens, I have heartache on my side. An abused and broken soul shines clear in my dark eyes, unnerving even the bravest of men. He is no exception.

"I was sent to wake you," Severus finally relents. "We received a Patronus some minutes ago. Kingsley wants everyone to gather in the circle."

I stand abruptly, throwing Severus off balance as I brush past him. An indignant noise catches in his throat, but I don't bother to apologise. I am too eager to hear what Kingsley has to say. A rough, semi-circle of tents serve as the focal point for the complex wards that keep us safe. This camp is home to dozens of witches and wizards who seek sanctuary from unjust persecution. The circle is a small fire ringed by large fallen logs. The blaze is kept going at all times, offering comfort and warmth to refugees. I sit in my usual seat next to Minerva McGonagall. It takes Severus three minutes to catch up. He is scowling. I can tell that he wants to strangle me. I offer him a smirk.

Before Severus can retaliate, an audible crack announces the arrival of Kingsley Shacklebolt. The imposing black Auror, affectionately referred to as Shack, sweeps his dark eyes over the assembled crowd. He gives me a nearly imperceptible nod. This small action has me on the (both literal and metaphorical) edge of my seat. Could this be it? Would tonight see me free of my chains at long last? I am not the only one to notice the slight gesture. Whispers of speculation hiss through the cool, fall air as others wonder at the meaning behind Shack's silent signal. A loud bang produced by Minerva's wand had order restored within five seconds. Kingsley smiled gratefully and began.

"Voldemort is dead. His body, along with the bodies of his followers, were found outside of Gringotts early this morning. Based on the evidence, someone bypassed their high security wards and slit their throats in the night. It is the Ministry's belief that the person responsible for this act is Undesirable Number One; Harry James Potter."

Once upon a time, the news that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had met their demise on the edge of a blade would have been cause for celebration. This was not the case tonight. No single cheer rose. Ripples of unease broke out across the assembly. The demands for answers came at Shack from all sides. Did this mean that the war was over? Could they return to their homes? Had Potter been arrested for his crimes? The question bubbles painfully in my throat, spilling from my lips before I can stop it.

"Is Harry alive?"

Reactions to my loud inquiry are varied. A scant few offer me sad smiles that are meant to convey their sympathies. Most regard me with undisguised loathing. I really don't blame the latter for their blind hatred. Those fools cannot even _**begin**_ to understand the reason I would ask after the wellbeing of a man who had murdered an entire family in cold blood. For the span of a heartbeat, I am tempted to tell them the truth, but I could never betray Harry. The same could not be said for the Weasleys. I don't know why Ron did it. Maybe it was out of fear, or maybe it was just plain spite. Whatever his reason, the red haired menace sold his best friend out to the Order and the Ministry.

For three days, the two factions debated the issue of sacrificing their saviour. The Weasleys played their part well; disclosing all information regarding the Horcruxes and the prophecy. It wasn't long before they'd convinced everyone involved that, in order to vanquish Voldemort for good, Harry Potter had to die. It was all for the greater good. My best friend's response to being hailed as Undesirable Number One was as swift as it was brutal. Turning his back on the light, Harry joined forces with the man that had murdered his parents. Barely a fortnight after the initial circulation of the Undesirable posters, the Weasley family paid for their mistake with their lives. I watched them die.

Held at wand point by one of the countless Death Eaters that had come to torture, rape and kill the traitorous redheads, I spent the duration of the slaughter torn between sheer terror and utter elation. These ill-placed feelings of euphoria are directed towards Ron's suffering. After enduring months of captivity at The Burrow because of that prick, I couldn't help revelling in his agony. Harry took care of Ron personally and I silently cheered him on as he drew scream after scream from the bastard. My best friend allowed his new subordinates to exterminate the rest of the clan and their bodies were left in the snow to rot. Colour left me as their blood soaked into the pure, white earth.

"Yes," says Kingsley, bitterly. "My team has tracked him to Godric's Hollow. He is alone and unarmed. This might be your only chance."

I shiver in anticipation; filled with equal amounts of joy and dread.

"Hermione," Severus whispers. "You don't have to do this."

I can hear the fear in his voice. He is scared for me.

"Severus," Minerva scolds. "We both agreed that Miss Granger would be the one to finish this. She has the best chance of bringing peace to our world."

Peace? I truly hated McGonagall in that moment. Peace was nothing more than some illusion of tranquillity that was far too easily shattered. Release. Completion. These are my reasons. Their world, one that had held such wonder for me, could be razed to ash and I wouldn't shed a tear. I would pull the trigger. Severus understands. He sees that I am going to lash out and offers me his hand. I take it, allowing him to lead me away from the circle, away from the malicious stares and unwanted pity. Inside the safety of my tent, I open my battered school trunk. Tucked safely beneath the books and parchment is a package wrapped in paper and twine. Atop the bundle is an envelope.

The letter, which I signed and sealed weeks ago, is addressed to Severus. Pressing the missive into his hands, I beg him not to open it until morning. He does promise, albeit reluctantly. I feel like a coward as I kiss his cheek and then send him back to the others. Alone, I light the lamp. In the soft, ethereal glow, I prepare myself for what I know will be the most difficult and dangerous task of my life. I do not tremble. The thought of such peril is exhilarating. Filling the chipped, floral basin beside my cot with fresh water, I strip out of my jeans and tee-shirt. The air is cold against my naked skin, but I pay it little mind. Conjuring a soft cloth, I cleanse my body of dirt and sweat.

Once I am satisfied with my hygiene, I use my shawl to towel off and then open the package. Folded neatly in the greying tissue is a black dress. The last time I wore the elegant ensemble was during the massive funeral for the Weasleys. I study the sleeveless, velvet garment critically and then nod with approval. It deserves a night out. Pulling the dress over my head, I tug it into place. The lacy hem falls just above my knees and I am grateful when the magical material resizes to fit my thinner frame. I forgo the heels in favour of my Converse sneakers. It takes four spells to tame my bushy hair into a sleek bun. Donning my black cloak, I turn on the spot. I don't look back.

On my last visit to Godric's Hollow, thick snow covered the ground and brightly coloured Christmas lights adorned the windows of the thatched cottages. As I stroll down the lane, the greying fall leaves crackle beneath my feet. Small children in a vast array of costumes run door to door, pleading for treats. A humourless laugh twists deep in my gut. The irony of the date is not lost on me. Seventeen years ago, Lily and James Potter had given their lives to save their son. A chill tickles my spine. I hope they can forgive me. Crossing the main square, I can see the small group of Aurors scouting the churchyard. I discharge them from their vigil before entering the graveyard proper.

The moment I cross the threshold, my magic leaves me in a great rush. It scans the area, searching for something familiar. I smile faintly as a tug in my lower abdomen draws me onto the expected path. Harry is on his knees, his dark head bent towards the headstone that adorns his parents' graves. _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._ I choke back my tears as I catch a glimpse of their epitaph. Harry makes no indication that he is aware of my presence, but he knows he is no longer alone. I can see his muscles tensing, coiling to spring as I draw closer. I have no intention of fighting him. Raising my wand, I aim the tip between his shoulder blades, the spell on my lips.

"In the back Hermione?"

His raw, wounded inquiry stills my hand. I'm furious with myself, knowing I will pay dearly for this moment of hesitation. Harry stands gracefully, the motion fluid and unhurried. As his eyes seek mine, ribbons of shock cut into me like knives. I drink in the emerald hue of his ardent gaze and am disappointed. The feeble memories that haunt my dreams are nothing compared to this terrible, devastating beauty that pins me to the spot through sheer force of will. It takes considerable effort to look away, but I can't let his mysterious power draw me in. Not this time. I don't realise that Harry is moving until his steely fingers close around my chin, forcing my head back up.

"Even Snape had the courage to look Dumbledore in the eye when he killed him."

Anger sparks inside me. I horde it, using it as a shield.

"Did you look Voldemort in the eyes when you slit his throat? What about Ginny? She was beaten and raped by six men. Did you watch her suffer? Did you see the anguish in Molly and Arthur's faces as their children were slaughtered?!"

There is no remorse. No arrogance. Just the cold, unfeeling truth.

"Yes, I did."

I feel my heart shatter. Harry wraps his arms around me as my legs buckle. Harry. He is gone. That brave, eleven year old boy who jumped on a troll's back to save a bossy know-it-all is lost. In his place is a cold blooded killer that wreaks unholy vengeance on his enemies. I want to hate him. Love is a cruel mistress, one that does not afford me the luxury of malice. Bitter tears run unchecked down my frozen cheeks.

"Why Harry?"

"It doesn't matter."

The entirely unhelpful reply heckles me and a vicious snarl rips from my throat. Harry releases me, taking a step back. I raise my wand, aiming it at his heart. The length of vine wood shakes in my grasp as my fury reaches its peak. My ingrained need to know everything wars with my desire to end this. Maybe I am weak. Maybe I'm just hoping he has a reason that will justify all of this. My magic manifests, crackling insidiously in response to my rage. The tip of my wand pulses with burning light.

"IT DOESN'T MATTER?!" I scream. "I'VE BEEN SENT HERE TO KILL YOU! DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT IT DOESN'T MATTER!"

For the first time tonight, fear is present on Harry's face. Ignoring the sparks of power that radiate off me in waves, he pulls me back into his arms, pleading with me to calm down. I take a shuddering breath, the steady beat of his heart soothing my ire and I force my emotions down. The maelstrom dies and the light recedes.

"Harry?"

I speak softly, not wanting to break the spell that has fallen over us. He grunts to show that he is paying attention.

"Do you remember when we were here before?" I inquire. "Do you remember what I said to you in the church?"

A quiet chuckle ripples through his chest.

"That you love me. That it had always been me and that I was completely mental to believe that you could ever fancy a barnyard animal like Ronald Weasley."

"I meant it," I tell him. "I love you. I always will. Please Harry, tell me why it has to be like this? Tell me why we can't run and leave the sheep to drown?"

He holds me a little tighter.

"You'll have your answers Hermione. The second my hearts stops, Gringotts will release the letters I've written. Full disclosure, I promise you."

I want to be mad, but sorrow is stronger. I'd hoped to avoid this.

"I won't be able to read it."

It takes a full minute for the implication behind my words to sink in. When it does, Harry pulls back in shock, his eyes filled with disbelief and pain.

"You can't mean-?" his voice cracks. "There must be another way!"

I shake my head.

"This isn't a matter of choice; neither of us will make it out of here alive because you need to die and I can't live without you. Some things are simple Harry, without all of the grey areas. Sometimes life really is just black and white."

"Black and white?" he's angry now. "That's it then? The Hermione that I know wouldn't just give up and walk away!"

"Then it seems we have both changed," I retort, "because the Harry I know would not bring death to an entire family just because they betrayed him!"

I can't recall a time when the silence between us has been so uncomfortable. Even the slightest change would have snapped the slowly building tension.

"It wasn't because they betrayed me."

The jarring statement leaves me numb. Too late, I realise that a small part of me was still harbouring hope that the old Harry still existed; that he was buried somewhere deep inside. My body is trembling and I can hear him calling me, but he sounds far away. The shaking slows and my head falls back. A tingle pinches my lips. The pain lends me clarity. I know this feeling. The epiphany is enough to snap me out of my comatose state. Harry is kissing me. Hard. I grab fistfuls of his unruly black hair, kissing him back with everything that I am. I cannot do anything else. His tongue sweeps over mine and I bite down on his lip. Vibrant drops of scarlet bead up on his bruised mouth.

"Hermione…"

His moan of desire is coupled with despair.

"Please Harry."

I am practically begging now and even I'm not sure what it is that I want. Harry kisses me again, his blood smearing my lips.

"I did it for you."

Time slows and I swear I feel the ground shifting beneath my feet. The truth rings out in a never ending, echoing crescendo that exists only within the confines of my own mind. My wand slips from my fingertips and I spring, throwing myself at him. I lash out with my fists, hitting every part of Harry I can reach while cursing him straight to hell. How could he?! How dare he put those deaths on my shoulders?! He overpowers me with ease, sweeping me feet out from under me. I wheeze in pain as my back hits the ground, the fall knocking the wind from my lungs. Harry pins me down with his larger frame, one hand holding my wrists above my head, while the other grips my chin.

"YOU BASTARD!"

I spit in his face. Harry raises his hand and I flinch. Nothing. His deep sigh makes me open my eyes. He is wiping the blood and saliva from his pale face.

"That is why I killed Ron," Harry states.

He slides his thumb over my scarred cheek.

"He deserved to die. I know Hermione. I know everything."

Unbidden, I am flung into the memories of that night in the Forest of Dean. Finding out I am pregnant with Harry's child. Rushing outside to tell him; both terrified and joyful. Harry unconscious in the snow. Ron standing over him with the broken locket and the Sword of Gryffindor. The redhead coming for me, fury in his watery blue eyes. Begging Ron to stop as he kicks and punches me, bringing a swift end to the fragile life inside me. Fingernails shredding, blood and tears soaking into the beige tent canvas as the killer of my unborn child holds me down and rapes me. The Burrow, drugged to the point where I am barely aware of what is happening. Harry returning my wand.

"How did you-?"

"I wasn't unconscious. After we destroyed the locket, I brought Ron back to the tent. He put me in the Body-Bind. I heard your screams. I heard you beg him to stop before he killed our baby. They were all in on it Hermione. Ron and his family kept you prisoner so that, when I was dead, they would control the Potter fortune."

It didn't make sense. What did _**I**_ have to do with Harry's money?

"You are the sole heir to my estate," he confesses, his tears dripping onto my face. "I'm so sorry Hermione. It's my fault; I asked Bill to help me draw up a will. He told his parents that you would inherit everything when I died."

The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place.

"The Ministry and the Order would do anything to see Voldemort destroyed… oh my god Harry! That's why Ron told them about the Horcrux in your head! It was the only way to expedite your death without it looking suspicious!"

Harry smiles through his tears.

"Beautiful and brilliant; how could I possibly resist?"

I blush at his compliment, but something is still nagging me.

"Won't the Ministry get your inheritance now?"

He glares at me.

"Are you really in such a hurry to die?"

I am tired of his stubbornness.

"Just answer the question Harry."

"No they won't," he mutters. "I didn't account for this situation, but in case the Ministry decided to… hurry things along, I named Draco Malfoy as next in line. He's the last male of the Black line and I owed him a favour for keeping you safe."

So that's who held me at wand point during the raid on the Burrow.

"Which brings us here; the close."

I hear the finality in his voice and I couldn't agree more. It was time to end it. He kisses me one last time before helping me stand. It is a simple, tender moment and I am sick with despair. Bending down, Harry retrieves my wand. He offers the weapon to me, but as I close my fingers around the handle, I sense his hesitation.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

I nod. I won't change my mind.

"Give me my wand."

Harry obeys and releases the tip. I take a step back.

"Not the Killing Curse," he requests.

I give him my best 'are you daft?' look. He smirks and I resist the urge to stomp my foot as I realise he's having me on. Harry knew perfectly well that I could never use that curse on him, even if it was painless. The Killing Curse required hatred to work and at the moment, I couldn't even muster enough anger for a mild glare. Aiming my wand, I take one last look into those green eyes, an incantation on my lips.

"I love you Hermione."

His words give me strength. He closes his eyes.

"I love you too Harry… _Reducto_!"

The destructive spell slams into his chest, ripping through his heart. He is dead before he hits the ground. As his blood pools at my feet, new colours fade into existence. Dawn is breaking. The fierce orange sunlight is too bright, too garish. Kneeling next to Harry's body, I lift his head into my lap. I'm surprised I still have tears to shed as I weep for my lost love. Throwing my head back, I scream at the injustice of it all. I curse the sheep that needed a baby to end their plight. I curse the Dark Lord and hope that he burns in hell for all eternity. Pure, unadulterated hatred fills me and I realise that I was wrong. Pressing my wand to my temple, I send a silent prayer to the heavens.

" _Avada Kedavra_."

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